


featherlight

by Ethereally



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Dildos, Hidden Truths Spoilers, M/M, Oral Sex, Pre-Game(s), Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 16:15:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6477187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ethereally/pseuds/Ethereally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Odin invites Laslow to a different sort of duel in his chambers, involving the kind of sword fighting you can't do in public.</p>
            </blockquote>





	featherlight

Castle Nohr is eerily quiet at this time of night, save for the sound of wind howling in the distance and the rattling armor of guards patrolling the hallways. Quietly, Laslow opens the door of his room by just an inch, eyes darting up and down the corridor to make sure he is alone, slipping through when the coast is clear. Fortune has chosen to shower him with both rain and sunshine. His talent for dance certainly falls in the latter category, and he thanks Naga that he is good at keeping his footsteps light, his movements keen. Odin’s room is two floors down. The last thing he wants is to be caught traipsing there. 

He is too new to Nohr to know how they will react to him visiting another man in his private chambers, especially at this hour. The glances Lord Leo and Niles were trading each other at the dinner table suggest that it might be okay, but Laslow doesn’t want to risk anything. Not so soon. He skids past a corner when a guard’s back is turned, making his way down the stairs with footsteps soft as snow. A note is scrunched up in the fist of his hand, passed to him by Odin underneath the table at today’s dinner party. 

_My blood aches for some action, my archrival! Meet me for a duel in the cavern of Darkness._

Ridiculous, as always, but Laslow cannot help but smile as he pauses briefly, squinting to reread the words in the dim light. At least he will have the pretense of a sparring match if he is caught and the catcher is gullible. This could have been another one of Odin’s exaggerated metaphors, or he could have deliberately left Laslow with an excuse and an escape. Like with everything else Odin does, Laslow supposes it is a mixture of the two. He can be thoughtful, if you squint through the tall tales hard enough. 

The door to Odin’s room creaks a little as it opens. Laslow feels himself tense with panic, nervousness churning in his gut, and he quickly darts in, pushing it shut behind him, jumping slightly at the soft thud—

“I’ve cast a silencing spell around the room. Nobody will hear us.” 

Odin glances up from where he is sitting on the bed, greeting Laslow with a small smile. Laslow heaves a sigh of relief, returning it with one of his own. He takes a moment to glance around the room. Much like its namesake the place is dimly lit, with spellbooks lining the shelves, a scroll of parchment haphazardly lying on the bedside table with familiar scribbling. 

On the mantelpiece is a chipped piece of a staff, next to a broken pink parasol. His heart stops at the memories, and he pushes images of carnage and Risen out from his mind. They are new people now, with no past and no history. Preparing to fight a new war. Laslow tears himself away, turning towards his best friend. Somehow, it feels apt to roll his eyes at Odin. There is no need for sentimentality, not right now. 

“I can’t believe you actually named this place. Also,” he says, dangling the note in mid-air, “Blood aching for action? Couldn’t you have come up with a better metaphor for… You know. This. Proposition.”

Laslow’s voice trails off, and he feels his cheeks flush bright red. Odin, that jackass, only grins. He gets up from the bed, slowly walking towards Laslow and leaning in towards him. Their noses are so close that he can feel Odin’s breath on his skin, lips near enough to brush against one another’s with a slight movement. Odin raises a hand, callused fingers brushing against Laslow’s chin. 

“It seems my words were met with comprehension. I would not expect any less from my fated nemesis--” 

Laslow groans, pushing the hand away with a loud sigh. “Keep talking like that and I’ll walk right out that door and leave you here. Leave you to deal with your own throbbing blood, or whatever you call it.” 

Now it is Odin’s turn to pull a face, lips pursing and brow scrunching up in a frown. “It’s _aching_ blood! An archrival must understand his opponent’s strategies to put up a worthy fight.” 

“This is the least sexy foreplay I’ve ever had. Can we please just get down to it?” 

Odin chuckles, leaning in and pressing a kiss to Laslow’s forehead. The years since the war have been kind to Odin; he is taller now, braver now, his exaggerated act all fun and games rather than a layer of denial. Anankos’ gift has certainly done him well, too. Laslow can’t help gaze at Odin’s chest through the sheer fabric of his outfit, staring at it with a mixture of envy and awe. He reaches out, gently brushing his hand against the cloth. The flat landscape looks completely natural, and something twists in Laslow’s stomach like the blade of a knife. Odin’s voice is low, eyes clouding over with sudden understanding. 

“Did Anankos--”

Laslow takes a deep breath, heart pounding against his chest. Gods, this would be their first time after all that has passed, their first time in this foreign world. Their first time after Anankos’ class change blessed Odin with a newfound ability to walk around almost half-naked, but not Laslow. “No. Only you.” He murmurs the words softly, skimming his hand across Odin’s pectorals, touching muscle and scars and skin. The twisting feeling is back again, coupled with an uncomfortable sense of spiking anxiety. Laslow takes a deep breath. _Not now_. 

He should be grateful, and Anankos had given him something far more important. He would never forget the sense of pride and wonder the first time he’d danced for Odin on the battlefield, imbuing him with surging energy; he would never trade that for anything. The thought is enough to dispel the chilling fear, and for Laslow to tug at the fabric of Odin’s top, drawing him closer. He leans in to whisper in Odin’s ear. 

“Nice shirt. Take it off.” 

Now it is Odin’s turn to flush. “It’s… It’s okay, right? You’re okay with this?” 

Laslow smirks, pressing a soft kiss to the lobe of Odin’s ear. “Come on, show me. Let me get a better look.” He pulls on the shirt again, this time a little harder, almost threatening to rip it off. Odin nods, silent for once. He pulls away, removing the ridiculous cape in a swooping motion and tossing it on the ground. The stupid, low-cut, shirt follows it soon after, leaving a topless Odin in front of him, blushing furiously. Laslow swallows the lump in his throat.

Odin looks so damn good like this—he is leaner, wiry, his swordsman’s bulk traded for a magician’s grace. He can see Odin’s arms better now that they aren’t hidden by the cape, and boy, does he want to kiss those biceps. Most of all, he can see the sculpted sight of Odin’s bare chest, and he decides that, despite everything, he quite likes it. Laslow reaches over to touch it again, rubbing circles into Odin pecs, before suddenly grabbing him by the shoulders. A yelp spills from Odin’s lips as Laslow shoves him on the bed and gives him a wink.

“Hmm, I like it so far. Let’s take it for a test run, shall we?” Before Odin can protest Laslow takes his chance to climb on top of him, straddling him and pressing soft kisses down his side. Nimble fingers trace an old scar in the middle of Odin’s stomach, a souvenir from a run-in with a Risen; he reaches over to kiss it, too, when he is done, hands wandering towards Odin’s hips, caressing him with feather-light touches. Odin trembles underneath the contact. Soft gasps escape him with every touch, and a surge of warmth rushes through Laslow. He doesn’t always appreciate how vocal Odin is, but he can deal with this.

He can deal with this indeed. 

Laslow leans forward, capturing Odin’s mouth in a languid kiss, a hand gently brushing his best friend’s cheek. Odin moans into the kiss, reaching up to tangle his hands into Laslow’s hair, cupping the back of Laslow’s neck as he smiles into the kiss. His tongue peeks out to brush against Laslow’s lower lip, wanting, yearning, asking permission for more—Laslow ponders it for a moment. A wicked grin crosses his features as he pulls away, eyes trained on Odin’s flat chest. 

“You know, I don’t think I’m quite done looking.” 

He takes hold of a nipple, giving it a nice, sharp, twist. Odin lets out another noise, and a thrill travels up Laslow’s spine. So he’s still sensitive there. Good. “It’s nice to see you haven’t changed _that much_ ,” Laslow mutters, before pressing his mouth against a nipple and giving it a nice, long suck, tongue laving against it for a moment before biting down gently. Odin shivers. 

“What the heck—Laslow—“ 

Laslow smiles, grabbing hold of Odin’s wrists and pinning them to the bed. He bites down on the nipple one more time and Odin howls, arching against the bed, pushing against the restraints to no avail. Well, that was something he hadn’t thought of when requesting to be a magician, had he? The old Odin might have been able to break through, no problem, but Laslow isn’t complaining about these _benefits_. His tongue curls around the nipple again to soothe the pain, before leaning up to whisper in Odin’s ear. 

“I could write songs about how good you look underneath me right now,” he mutters, pressing a soft kiss to Odin’s neck. “Compose a tune about a fabled hero of worlds, who makes sounds like a wanton whore. How would you like that?” He angles down, starting to leave a trail of kisses down Odin’s collarbone, gently, lovingly, lavishing it with attention with soft pecks and licks, tasting bare skin and Odin’s heartbeat. His best friend squirms underneath the touch, barely able to stutter. 

“L- Laslow,“ he manages to spit out, but Laslow cuts him short by sinking his teeth into the space between his pecs, making sure to bruise just hard enough to leave a mark. It will probably show under his shirt; Laslow supposes he doesn’t really care. It won’t be his job to explain. Besides, he’s having too much fun with this. He leans up to whisper in Odin’s ear again, tracing his earlobe with his tongue. 

“That’d be a great way to go down in history. Odin Dark, legendary sorcerer, bringing a new meaning to ‘battle cry’--” 

“Laslow, stop!” Odin pushes against Laslow’s hands again as his back arches off the bed, but he is barely able to shake the restraints. Laslow smirks, simply pressing another kiss on Odin’s mouth. Tongues curl against each other as they continue their embrace, Laslow tasting fine wine and magic and the aftertaste of mead. Heat begins to pool up between his legs as Odin lets out a soft whimper, and Laslow grins, pulling away when he’s ready, looking directly at Odin as he speaks. 

“I think you’d be a great hero. You already are.” 

It was true; Odin was, and Selena was, and maybe if he squints he could qualify as one too. They’ve been through two worlds and two wars and one that is likely to come, and what has been consistent the whole time has been Odin, no, Odin always fighting by his side, Odin as his comrade in arms through worlds and space and time. They deserve to reward each other for a job well done, even if Laslow isn’t always sure he deserves it. He releases his grip on Odin: his hands will soon have other matters to tend to. For a second he lets himself loom over his friend, surveying his hard work, noting all the marks he’s left on Odin’s bare chest—the telling hickey on his pulse point, the bruises on his pecs, a particularly dark one by his right nipple that’s going to be impossible to cover up. 

Odin grew up so attractive and life is so unfair. 

Laslow pushes Odin’s chin upwards, tracing a finger on his bottom lip, admiring his sharp features, swelling with pride at the thought that that he was _his_ , his and his only, even if it was just in this moment of time before they returned to being retainers for sibling lords. Who would have thought that they’d ever come to this? He’s okay with this though, walking the fine line between vitriolic best friends and stupid boys in love. Especially if he has Odin with him, holding his hand. 

“You should see yourself right now, Odin. You are so gorgeous,” Laslow mutters, before Odin grabs his shoulders, pulling him down for yet another kiss. A hand reaches out to cup the back of Laslow’s neck, and Laslow feels the calluses and marks from their previous war scrape across his skin, marks of their history, marks of their years together as friends and now more, maybe more. The stirring sensation inside him is getting harder by the moment to ignore. Laslow pulls away, pressing a finger onto Odin’s lips. “Shh.”

His hands begin snaking their way down to Odin’s legs, skimming the bruises that he left and the scars he wishes he could take away. Laslow takes a special moment for his touch to linger on the mark on Odin’s chest, welling up with satisfaction as he lets out another soft moan; and then another to press a soft kiss to the gash on Odin’s side, drawing it out, making sure Odin knew just how much fun Laslow was having with this. How could he not, when he could watch him slowly unfold? Laslow smirks, finally beginning to tease at the hem of Odin’s pants with one hand, caressing the inside of his thighs with the other. 

“This is an honor, isn’t it? To sleep with the great hero Odin Dark.” Odin lets out another whimper and Laslow knows this is when he is completely gone. What a far cry from his usual verbosity, his well-crafted words and delusions of grandeur. Laslow presses a kiss to Odin’s torso, trailing it with his tongue before sliding Odin’s pants down in a single motion. Dampness peeks through the cloth of Odin’s underwear and Laslow presses his tongue against it, allowing himself a little taste, the flavor of nectar and salt spreading across his mouth. 

Odin’s reaction is priceless. He lets out another yelp, and his back practically arches off the bed in arousal. A callused hand shoots out to pull at Laslow’s pants, wanting, desperate, beckoning for him to come unclothed as well. 

“Well, someone’s eager,” Laslow says, a teasing lilt slipping through his voice: mocking, _musical_. Rich of him, considering the stirrings between his legs are becoming increasingly hard to disregard, but it isn’t like Odin will find out just yet. He ponders drawing this out, leaving Odin to pant and whimper for a little longer, but decides he’s had enough. It wouldn’t do to have them both yearning for too long, after all, and neither of them have been great at impulse control. “How do you want me to fix this?” 

Odin whimpers, vaguely gesturing to the bedside table, and Laslow knows exactly what he means. He scrambles off the bed, opening the drawer on top and finding a strap-on dildo and a vial of lubricating salve, both of which were extremely familiar. He raised a brow. Man, Selena had been teasing him about what he brought from Ylisse: she clearly had not checked the contents of Odin’s bag while they were traveling. Though he supposes she probably doesn’t want to know, considering he would sooner die than learn about her and Lucina’s sex life. 

Regardless, Selena is the last person he wants to be thinking about at this point in time. Laslow slips his own pants down, allowing them to lie on the floor in a crumpled heap. His underwear soon follows and he picks up the dildo, fumbling with the leather straps as one goes around his waist and another between his legs. Even the contact between the strap and his privates is enough to send a shudder up his spine, and he grits his teeth. Not right now, when he’s supposed to be the one giving Odin a treat. Laslow scrambles on top of Odin once again, grabbing the salve in his other hand. He can’t help but think that he must look extremely silly like this. Odin, on the other hand, has a different idea. “Can you just,” he says, panting, “be done and over with it--” 

Laslow taps his chin. “Maybe,” he says, voice dripping with honeyed coyness. He places the vial of salve next to him on the bed before continuing to rub circles between Odin’s thighs, gently prying them apart. Now he has a better view he can see that Odin is wetter than he thought; Laslow reaches in to rub a finger against his slit once again. Odin’s hips buck slightly at the contact, face flushed, a perfect picture of arousal. Laslow draws away, taking a moment to lick his hand, tasting Odin on his lips. “I could just get up and leave right now. Leave you hanging like this. How would you like that?”

Odin flushes even brighter, if that is even possible. “F- fine. Walk away, wearing a giant strap-on penis around your waist. How do you think Lord Xander would react if he saw you right now?” He bites his lip, and the swelling of heat between Laslow’s legs only grows at the sight. 

Laslow laughs, trying to ignore the stirring sensation in his own loins. He picks up the vial of salve again, squeezing some onto his hand and beginning to rub it into Odin’s slit. Odin shudders with every gentle motion, every touch, and Laslow smiles down at him. Verbal sparring has always been their battleground of choice, and he isn’t going to let Odin have the last word even if he does look absolutely delectable. 

“Lord Xander would be honored, and then request a piece of this. You,” he says, pressing a soft kiss between Odin’s legs, “might have some competition, so be careful what you wish for.” 

And then there was silence.

Laslow grabs hold of the base of the dildo. He positions himself, pressing its tip into Odin. Their gazes meet and he begins to push the dildo in, slowly, steadily, eyes never leaving each other’s. He can almost feel Odin’s heat wrap around him as their bodies make contact, the leather strap grazing against his own sweet spot with every motion, every touch. A pair of strong arms comes up to wrap around Laslow’s shoulders in a tight embrace and his chest constricts for his partner, his lover, his _friend_. He inhales deeply, studying Odin’s face. Odin nods, shifting ever so slightly, breath hitching in his throat. 

“Y- yeah.” 

Laslow leans in to press his lips against Odin’s, starting to thrust his hips at a steady pace as he deepens their connection. Odin whimpers at the contact, hands coming up to hold against Laslow’s shoulders, fingernails burying into Laslow’s flesh as Laslow begins to speed up. The strap continues to gently tease against him with every thrust, and he groans, burying his face in the crook of Odin’s neck as he continues to buck against him. Odin responds in turn by rocking back and a tremor rushes through Laslow, passion running through him as his movements become faster, more desperate. He pulls away from the kiss. Laslow’s eyes greedily survey Odin’s expression, watching as his best friend’s lips part, pleading, wanting more. 

“Laslow, please—“

Even Laslow can’t find it within him to respond save for a nod, and by continuing to push. Odin’s legs curl up around the arch of Laslow’s back as he keeps rocking his hips, and Laslow can almost feel his walls tightening around the dildo, clamping down on it. Odin practically tugs Laslow down, crushing his lips against him, back arching off the bed with every motion. Laslow’s thrusts are wilder now. They are less rhythmic, more erratic with every movement, and he moans into the kiss, the pooling heat within him increasingly desperate to be resolved. Together, their connection feels like fireworks, like dancing, like _magic_ \-- Odin’s grip tightens on him and he pushes harder, faster—

Odin throws his head back, pushing away Laslow’s embrace as he released his orgasm with a loud groan. His hips fly off the bed in a swift, single motion, and Laslow grits his teeth, continuing to thrust inside him as pleasure courses over Odin, doing his best to prolong the moment for him. For Odin, for _Owain_ , the person who’d always been there for him in different timelines, through different worlds, fighting with him side by side despite what grave dangers lay ahead. He deserves this, deserves peace more than anyone else, and Laslow would follow him through hellfire and back, he swears this, he swears this. 

Finally, Odin is done, head falling onto the pillow with the stupidest grin on his face. Laslow pulls away, desperately undoing the straps of the dildo and letting it fall on the bed. His cheeks are flushed, his heart is pounding against his chest, and Odin immediately sits up and presses a long, tender kiss against Laslow’s lips, a hand reaching out to caress his bottom. 

“Thank you,” Odin mumbles, pulling away briefly, “Thank you for that.” He is cut off by Laslow pressing his lips against his once again, tongues curling against one another in another soft, languid kiss. Laslow clasps Odin’s other hand in his, toying with his fingers, letting out another moan as Odin continues to fondle his bottom. Now he is no longer wearing the strap-on it is probably apparent just how wet he is, and he shudders as Odin skims the inside of his thighs, hips jerking with the touch, desperate, wanting. Through the corner of his eye Laslow can see Odin fumbling around for the strap on, hands aimlessly searching the bed sheets for where he’d put it. He pulls away from the kiss, grabbing hold of Odin’s wrist and placing it on his crotch.

“This is all right,” Laslow mutters. Odin nods, stepping off the bed, kneeling down on the floor right in front of Laslow. He begins leaving a trail of butterfly kisses on his thighs, thoughtful, gentle, feather-light, rubbing circles into Laslow’s skin. Every touch is enough to send jolts of warmth and lightning through Laslow’s body, sparks flying like fireworks across his skin. Laslow cannot resist groaning again, quivering at the contact. He reaches out to tug against Odin’s hair, anchoring himself as he prepares to come untouched. 

Odin’s tongue peeks out to lave against Laslow’s slit, sending tremors running through his body. His face flushes crimson and he buries it in his hands, completely aware of how ridiculous he must look right now. Scarred hands grab hold of Laslow’s thighs and he lets out another soft gasp as Odin dives in, tongue grazing against his folds. A finger slides in and then another; Laslow feels his hips buck, pulling against Odin’s hair again as pleasure courses through his body. 

He feels so exposed, so vulnerable like this. Yet despite his philandering and his pretty words, his failed trysts with cute girls, this is what he wants most, Odin is what he wants most. Laslow gasps as Odin’s fingers push deeper into him, trembling at the contact. He must be such a sight, wet and wanting, struggling not to be too loud as Odin’s tongue flickers against his sweet spot and his fingers search him inside, slowly. Their eyes meet and Laslow nods, “I’m ready.” 

Odin returns the words with a smile and a “Got you.” He thrusts his fingers into Laslow and Laslow feels his core clench with arousal and he grits his teeth, desire coursing through his veins. His breath hitches in his throat as Odin begins to suck at his sweet spot, and he digs his hands into the bedsheets, barely anchoring himself to sit up straight. The combination of the fingers inside him and Odin’s mouth are almost too much for him to bear, and he bites down on his tongue. 

Gods, wasn’t he just giving Odin crap for being loud earlier? Who was an embarrassment to himself now? Odin seems to realize this and he too smirks, suddenly pausing in his tracks to speak. 

“Laslow?” he says, glancing up, a wicked grin plastered over his face. Oh gods, no: Odin looks so good at his feet, mouth wet with Laslow’s essence over it, and he hates how this very sight is enough to send another burst of heat running through his loins. This, especially when he knows exactly what Odin is planning to say next. He does this almost every single time. but it doesn’t stop Laslow from trying to protest, words minced through his teeth as Odin continues to thrust his fingers inside him. 

“Odin, _no_ , not right now.” Laslow cringes in embarrassment, heart pounding against his chest. This is going to destroy him and he knows it, especially because it won’t make him any less desperate. “Don’t you dare, Odin, Gods, no--”

Odin beams up at him. “My sword hand twitches.” 

He thrusts his fingers inside Laslow again, giving them a little twist. A soft moan escapes Laslow’s lips and he buries his face in his hands, flushing furiously. Gods, he hates how good that felt. He hates how Odin manages to get him every time. Most of all, he hates Odin, even if his fingers feel amazing inside him and he knows just how to turn him on. Laslow squeezes his eyes shut, clenching the bedsheets again, a soft moan escaping his lips as Odin’s fingers curl inside him. “I am going to get up and leave right now.” 

Odin smirks. “Your words may be harsh, but your body betrays them.” He pushes his fingers in again and this time, gods, he hits the right spot, gently pressing against the little nub. Laslow practically squeals as Odin begins to rub against it, a plethora of noises spilling from his throat. His fingernails are digging so deeply into Odin’s sheets that he fears he might tear them, but that is secondary to the feeling of Odin’s fingers twisting inside him, mouth sucking on him from the outside. 

Laslow’s thighs tremble and his body shakes, trying desperately to hold on to the edge as Odin continues to lave at him, push against him. Every moment makes it increasingly difficult, though, because this, _this_ is the Odin he loves best. Odin knows he loves this, loves being touched, loves being finger-fucked even if he won’t take his shirt off, and he loves the person you find when you strip past the layers of turmoil and confusion and trauma to reveal Odin, the real Odin. His Odin, his _Owain_ who makes him tremble with his touches and moan with every kiss, even if they come with big exaggerations and badly-timed jokes. 

Odin rubs against the spot one last time, and Laslow feels himself practically arch off the bed, his orgasm crashing down upon him like a tidal wave. Passion and flames course through him as he lets out a loud groan, throwing his head back and back arching like the curve of a bow. Odin continues to lick his folds as Laslow rides out the high, hips bucking involuntarily, seeing stars and red and gold until he fell back onto the bed, panting. His head hits the pillow and he buries his face in it, smothering himself in embarrassment, shaking from the aftershocks. Odin walks up to him, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “Were you sufficiently pleasured?” he asks, stroking Laslow’s chin. 

Laslow glances up, sitting up so they are on eye level. He presses his lips to Odin’s mouth and wraps his arms around his waist. They just kiss, keep kissing for a while, Laslow tasting himself on his best friend’s lips, the flavor swirling around with tongue. Finally, Laslow pulls away, wearing the smallest smile. “What’s next. Are we going to name the strap-on Falchion?”

Odin laughs. “We could name the strap-on Falchion. Would a stronger name not befit such a weapon, however?” 

“Heh. We’d be bringing a new meaning to sword fighting, if you know what I mean.” Laslow gets up on his feet, pressing a soft kiss to Odin’s forehead before falling back on the bed, patting it for his partner to join him. They could fall asleep, stay together for the rest of the night and he wouldn’t care, didn’t want to think of how he’d explain it when they woke up in the morning. For now, he had Odin, and Odin had him. 

That made being away from home more bearable.

**Author's Note:**

> Owainigo Owainigo-- do you ever have a ship with the perfect dynamic in front of you and NOT realize it until three years later, because boy that is sure what happened to me. I'm sorry for all the memes but I don't think they'd have it any other way, oops. 
> 
> On a more serious note, I am not dfab male myself, but this fic was suggested by someone who is and he has proofread it to make sure I didn't heck up. Nevertheless, I'm aware that there might be issues with this story, and I apologize in advance if I offend or hurt anyone. Please feel free to talk to me if there's anything you aren't okay with! 
> 
> And if you want to chat, feel free to hit me up on Twitter @hinokers (:


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